


Peel Off The Napkin

by L_M_Biggs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Holocyne to my knowledge is not an actual place in the Star Wars canon, Kissing, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Phasma has been found out by the First Order, and Phasma I always pin somewhere in her late 30s close to 40, i operate under the assumption that Rey is roughly 21 in the canon now, might add more if this gets enough attention, please note that Phasma is not a nice person, references to acts of not niceness, references to the novelisation Phasma and vaaaague reference to the comic Captain Phasma, so she decides to vanish, they know that she lowered the shields to Starkiller Base
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/pseuds/L_M_Biggs
Summary: Phasma had abandoned her TIE fighter, pilot and all. She had set fire to the fighter, pilot and all, and had gone on her way. Abandoning her armor on the fighter had not been her initial plan, but just before she had blasted the fuel cells, she had realised that her chromium armor would be a target on her back as surely as any resistance flight suit or white stormtrooper armor. She had stripped out of the armor, the hundred pounds of melted down Naboo yacht that had protected her for well over a decade falling from her frame piece by piece. Dressing the unfortunate pilot in the heavy chrome had been a stroke of genius. Even if the woman had been able to escape the burning wreckage, the armor had been locked closed, only Phasma knowing the sequence on her comm unit to unlock it. The woman would have been hunted, her voice modulated, and her head wanted by the First Order and Resistance alike.





	1. To Annihilate Each Decade

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath, particularly these lines:  
> Peel off the napkin  
> O my enemy.  
> Do I terrify?——
> 
> The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?  
> The sour breath  
> Will vanish in a day.
> 
> Soon, soon the flesh  
> The grave cave ate will be  
> At home on me
> 
> And I a smiling woman.  
> I am only thirty.  
> And like the cat I have nine times to die.
> 
> This is Number Three.  
> What a trash  
> To annihilate each decade.

Phasma had abandoned her TIE fighter, pilot and all. She had set fire to the fighter, pilot and all, and had gone on her way. Abandoning her armor on the fighter had not been her initial plan, but just before she had blasted the fuel cells, she had realised that her chromium armor would be a target on her back as surely as any resistance flight suit or white stormtrooper armor. She had stripped out of the armor, the hundred pounds of melted down Naboo yacht that had protected her for well over a decade falling from her frame piece by piece. Dressing the unfortunate pilot in the heavy chrome had been a stroke of genius. Even if the woman had been able to escape the burning wreckage, the armor had been locked closed, only Phasma knowing the sequence on her comm unit to unlock it. The woman would have been hunted, her voice modulated, and her head wanted by the First Order and Resistance alike.

The local town, Holocyne, had been the sort of place where bounty hunters prospered, striking their deals and learning through word of mouth about locations of their targets, a place for men and women to brag about their kill counts, their hunts, their prowess. Lurking in the back alley of a bar, dressed in the black undersuit of her armor, Phasma knew it would not take long for her to be identified as First Order. She had an hour, maybe less, to change her appearance. Slowly moving through the back alleys of the various buildings, peering in when the doors were opened and closed, she tried to find her bearings and form a plan. Bars, restaurants, and even a few places prolific with dancing girls and boys far too young or old to still be on stage.

Vermin, every last one of them. But Phasma could not deny that she was one of them now. A fugitive from the First Order and wanted dead by the Resistance for her crimes, she would have to blend in with the smugglers and bounty hunters and other various scum of the galaxy.

A Ubese bounty hunter (male, tall and broad) wearing the distinct filtration helmet of their kind stepped out of a dance house, a young twi’lek girl on his arm, the bounty hunter cackling as he tugged at the skimpy, fluttering scraps of fabric about her breasts, exposing her to the alley. The girl laughed and her hands wrapped around the male’s shoulders. 

She screamed when Phasma’s hands wrapped around the bounty hunter’s throat, throttling him as he cursed and his modulator shorting out with his chokes and cut off screams. The girl didn’t even scream after she had realised what had happened, her hands dropping to her sides as Phasma yanked the Ubese away from her. She only stared at Phasma, hesitantly spreading her legs and bracing her hands against the wall as the woman worked, keeping her face carefully hidden from the girl. 

It wasn’t until she had the Ubese helmet on that she turned to the girl, speaking through the modulator, listening to the way it made her voice more grating, more higher pitched. 

“Do not speak of this. If you do, I will kill you first.”

The girl nodded, darting away and leaving Phasma to continue stripping the corpse, pulling on pants and shirt, then boots and coat, buckling several belts about her middle and across her shoulders. She hefted the blaster, checking it’s weight and the plasma levels before discarding it and instead carefully fastening the spear she had stripped from the bounty hunter across her back. 

She didn’t bother to hide the body, not when any number of bodies likely appeared only to disappear within minutes of the encounter.

Now all she needed was a ship off planet. Possibly a job.

Well, there was work aplenty for a warrior on this planet. It would be no difficulty to take on work as a smuggler or a bounty hunter. By the Force, even the various bars and clubs would need muscle to protect their interests.

As much as she despised Holocyne, she couldn’t help but admit that she had chosen the perfect place to land.

\--

A month into her time in Holocyne was when she came across the Jedi girl. 

She was accompanied by the Wookie, and had been asking around various bars for assistance, for word, for news, for confirmation, about one Captain Phasma. 

Phasma had been seated in a corner table, her helmet tuned to listen to the conversations of several tables around her. She had paid good money for that feature and it had helped her become good at figuring out the key players in the city, the events occurring outside the planet, and most importantly who was looking for her.

Currently her bounty was at 8,000,000 First Order credits. General Hux had placed a high bounty on her head. Doubtless Armitage didn’t want word getting out about what Phasma had done in aid of him and was willing to pay through the nose to make sure she was dead. There was no requirement that she be brought in alive, after all.

Armitage, who was the only person who knew her face, the only person alive who had seen her without her helmet. 

All he had given was a description, but that was enough, and Phasma knew that her time could doubtlessly be counted in days, perhaps hours, by now. 

The Jedi froze at the bar, her head turning to stare directly at Phasma, and the woman thought of Parnassos. Thought of purple sands and black spires and an endlessly clouded sky, thought of nothing but the ebb and flow of the landscape. 

The girl approached and Phasma shifted, spreading her legs slightly and letting the girl see her remove the blaster from her holster, aiming it under the table at her as she sat across from Phasma. 

“What’s your name?” The girl asked brusquely, staring at Phasma’s helmet, as if her penetrating gaze could push through metal and glass. 

“Everyone calls me Captain.” Phasma rested her elbow on the back of her seat, tilting her head. “What’s your name, Jedi?” She nodded to the saber clipped to the girl’s belt and she startled, as if forgetting the presence of the weapon. 

Interesting.

“My name is Rey.” The girl stared at the woman’s obscured gaze. “I’m looking for a Captain. Perhaps you’re the one I’m looking for.”

Phasma couldn’t help but let out a rasping, unused laugh, the modulator making it seem more like a high pitched cackle, bursting through with static. “And what is the name of your Captain?”

“Phasma. Captain Phasma.”

“Jedi have fallen low if they’re reduced to bounty hunting.” Phasma mused, her finger still on the trigger of her blaster. 

“Holster your weapon.” Rey ordered, her voice low and firm, and Phasma felt the compulsion, but resisted it. Years of working with Kylo Ren had made her aware of that particular trick. It was a matter of will. Not a matter of physical strength. 

“Those tricks don’t work on me, Jedi.” The woman made sure to draw out the title, leaning in, unlocking the safety of her blaster. “Now, are you simply going to waste my time, or are you going to tell me why you think I can help you?”

“I believe Captain Phasma was here before she vanished.” Rey took the resistance in stride, her eyes fixed more firmly on Phasma’s helmet. “I need to find her. Before the Resistance. Definitely before the First Order.”

“And why before the Resistance?” Phasma leaned forward, her shoulders hunching as she stared at the girl. 

“I don’t want them to kill her.” Rey said simply. “I believe she can help, and I believe she should be given the choice.”

“She could choose to be your enemy, to kill you.” The girl was far too trusting and Phasma couldn’t help but let a trace of scorn into her voice. 

“And that is her choice, Captain.” Rey stared at Phasma. “Something I’ve learned about First Order Stormtroopers is that they are not given any choice. I believe that Phasma is just as much a victim of the First Order as everyone else.”

Phasma laughed, full bellied, her shoulders shaking with the laughter as she slammed her hand on the table, drawing curious gazes that were quickly diverted with a wave of Rey’s hand and a silent command. “Naive and stubborn is what you are, girl.” Phasma looked down at her. “You want to know about Captain Phasma?” The woman leaned in, her elbow on the table, her helmet inches from the girl’s nose. “Captain Phasma always has been and always will be in for whatever can protect her most. And the First Order could provide her with just that.”

“Until she betrayed them.”

“To save her own skin.” Phasma stood. “Always remember that she looks out for Number One.”

“I can help you.” Rey whispered, staring up at the woman. “You’re a great warrior. I’ve seen the holos, I’ve heard the stories. Finn.... FN-2187.... He spoke very highly of you.”

Phasma froze, staring down at the girl before her hand shot out, grabbing at Rey’s arm and dragging her out the back door. “I should kill you right now.” Phasma growled, her low, gravelly modulator making the words grate. 

“I’m the only person determined to help you, Phasma.” Rey hissed, staring up at her, her brown eyes earnest as they stared up at Phasma. “My friend, the Wookie? He thinks we should rip your arms out of their sockets.”

Phasma drew her blaster, aiming it at the underside of the girl’s jaw. “Why shouldn’t I just blast your pretty face off and run? Take your ship?”

“You’d find my ship very difficult to fly without a copilot.” Rey stared calmly up at her. “Not to mention you can’t fly a ship. When you escaped the Starkiller base you took a pilot with you.” Phasma snarled as Rey’s eyes searched the mask of her helmet. “The armor on another body was a nice touch, but she was far smaller than you.”

Phasma tightened her grip on Rey’s arm, her finger pressing lightly against the blaster. 

“The Resistance will torture me. They will torture me for what information they can get then kill me, execute me as an example to the First Order.”

“They won’t.”

“You cannot know that!” Phasma snarled, shaking the girl viciously. 

“I know, because I will not let them.” Rey carefully reached up, her hand touching Phasma’s own gloved hand, her fingers sliding beneath the cuff of Phasma’s jacket and shirt, resting upon her skin.

An electric shock coursed through Phasma and she tensed, staring down at Rey, feeling a wash of certainty, of calm, of protectiveness, of understanding. 

This girl had had choices made for her, decisions with no way to win forced upon her. She was a scavenger because she had been sold, she was Resistance because she had been found by the Resistance first, she was a Jedi because she had been told it was the only choice for a force user. There were decisions, laid out carefully, planned by those in authority around her, made because of desperation and the desire to live beyond each day, to see a future.

“You will come with Chewie and I on the Falcon.” The girl whispered, staring up at her. “I promise you that I won’t turn you over for a bounty or to be executed. You’re safe with me.”

“And how do you know that you are safe with me?” Phasma asked, sneering down at the girl. “You seem to have heard so much about me.” She pressed close to her, rocking her hips against Rey’s more narrow set, letting her get the implication. “Folks around here will tell you I like girls like you.”

To her credit Rey didn’t tense, didn’t flinch away. She met Phasma’s gaze through the helmet and pressed her hips back against Phasma’s. “Come with me to the ship.” She whispered again, and this time Phasma couldn’t help but contemplate it as a viable option.

Rey wasn’t shocked or horrified by her, didn’t find her to be a monster. She was ernest, straightforward, smart.

And able to look upon a situation as a whole and make decisions that way.

Phasma lowered her blaster, leaning in to whisper through her modulator. “I’ll get my things.”

“I’m going with you.”

Phasma shrugged. “So long as the Wookie doesn’t come.”

Rey nodded, entering the bar again, only to return a minute later, as if she was afraid that Phasma would vanish if she left her for too long. 

The streets to Holocyne were winding, messy things, filled with people doing various activities at this time of day. There were three drug deals going down, at least half a dozen bounties being paid, and countless couples fucking in the darkness, feeling as if the scant electric lights offered a sense of anonymity unfound during the day.

Rey avoided looking at those couples, but Phasma could feel her pressing closer to her side as they walked, the girl following Phasma to her apartment. The woman stepped over a twi’lek prostitute performing oral acts upon a crolute, Rey jumping after her as the woman climbed the narrow staircase to her apartment, punching in her code and pushing Rey inside.

She had one other set of clothing, and that was easily packed up. A datachip with various bits of valuable information pulled from her communications unit with the First Order was slipped into her utility belt. Three blasters of various sizes, her staff, and a case full of plasma cells were packed up as well and Phasma turned, staring at Rey as the girl watched her.

“Let me see your face.” The girl whispered, staring up at the woman as Phasma tensed. “There’s no one else who can see.”

There were no windows, only one door, and the only two lifeforms in the room were Rey and Phasma. 

Phasma hesitated, staring down at Rey, wondering what it would cost her to do as the girl told. She already knew who she was. What harm would showing her face do?

Phasma reached up to her helmet, unclasping the thick metal collar she had installed. It guarded against a knife to the throat, and kept the helmet firmly in place and had been the first investment she had made.

Peeling back the mask, Phasma blinked down at the girl, taking in the sight of her without the filtered gaze of the Ubese helmet. She had freckles. Something that the green wash of the helmet’s optics did not take into account.

“Tell me, Rey?” Phasma tilted her head. “Do I look the monster they describe me as?”

Rey breathed out at the sight of her and Phasma raised a brow. Rey took in Phasma’s blonde hair, her eyes so pale that they looked silver, her full lower lip, the hard line of her brow, her stiff cheeks and tense jaw. Phasma moved to replace the helmet after a few moments, only to be stopped by the girl’s hands, pressing to her cheeks, staring up at her.

“I’ve heard... So much about you.” Rey whispered as she stared at her. Something in her tone made Phasma’s heart flutter. “I didn’t think you’d be...” She glanced away, her hands still on Phasma’s face, still touching her. 

When was the last time anyone had touched Phasma gently? Decades, most likely. Before Scyre. Maybe Keldo... Maybe her mother, before she had been killed. 

Gentle, calloused fingers stroked over Phasma’s cheeks and she kept her eyes open, even as she turned her face into the girl’s touch, following her palm and sighing softly at the touch. 

“Captain Phasma...” Rey murmured, and before Phasma could respond, soft lips were pressed to hers, and she could feel, just as she had felt in the bar, the girl’s admiration, her longing, the desire for someone to understand.

A scavenger, from a lonely waste of a planet, getting by on scraps, taking the first opportunity away from the life she had been forced to lead. Perhaps if the Resistance had found her, then Phasma would have been fighting alongside her against Starkiller Base.

“Captain Phasma.” Rey whispered, leaning up to kiss her softly. Phasma froze at the touch, at the lips pressed to her own, and her palms rested upon Rey’s own jaw, the gloves stroking over smooth, pale skin. 

She pulled back too soon, too quickly, and Phasma followed her mouth, her fingers grasping the girl’s jaw firmly, drawing her back in for another kiss, longer, harder, more demanding.

Thin, lean arms wrapped around her neck and Phasma lifted the girl into her arms so that she did not have to bend to meet her mouth. She pushed Rey’s back against the door to the small apartment, her hand going to knead at the girl’s breast through the fabric, growling into her mouth. “Rey.” She breathed out.

A pounding on the door broke the spell.

“Captain Phasma!” A voice called through and the two froze, staring at one another. “Come out or we will come inside.”  
Rey grasped her saber, aiming it behind her at the door, Phasma reaching for the keypad to open the door.

“My blaster.” Phasma mouthed at her and Rey’s hand reached out, floating one of the larger blasters into her grip, replacing her helmet as she waited and listened at the argument breaking out on the other side of the door. Phasma’s fingers wrapping tight around the grip of her blaster before she punched the code to open the door.

As they fought their way down through the team of bounty hunters that had followed them, Phasma couldn’t help but think of how beautiful the young Jedi looked beside her. Fierce and beautiful and vicious as she cut down her opponents with a warrior’s grace, defending Phasma and herself with the saber with a practiced ease. She would have been right at home in Parnassos (stony faced and determined against the planet’s violence) or perhaps fighting alongside Kylo Ren (careful control to temper his wild chaos).

But here and now she was not Jakku’s Rey or the Resistance’s Rey or Kylo Ren’s Rey or Parnassos’ Rey. Here and now she was Phasma’s Rey, her companion and pilot, her protector and comrade, and Phasma had always made sure to protect her interests.

Phasma felt her loyalty, as exclusive as it was, shift to accommodate the girl Jedi, her Rey.


	2. Them Unwrap Me, Hand and Foot

“Rey!”

Phasma’s modulator crackled with the volume of the shout, the woman sprinting towards the edge of the cliff that the girl was dancing towards. Her saber crashed and crackled against Kylo Ren’s and Phasma shot her blaster at anything that came between her and the young Jedi. It had never been difficult to shoot at stormtroopers or officers of the First Order, and now, with nearly three dozen white armored bodies between her and Rey, Phasma could not stop, would not stop.

The Ubese fabrics were lighter than her armor and Phasma had been a powerful runner even within her chromium suit. Her long legs now carried her across the field of battle, her boots crunching at the multitude of shell fragments that made up the ground beneath her feet. She could hear Ren’s shouts of rage, his demands for her to join him, to surrender, to give up the Resistance. 

Phasma held no love or loyalty to the Resistance, not to General Organa despite her kindness, or to FN-2187 despite Rey’s love of him. She held only loyalty to herself, to her own interests.

That’s what she told herself as she lurched up the hill, towards the cliff, throwing two of her stormtroopers aside with a strength built from years of being weighed down by the shell the First Order had crafted around her. 

“Rey!” Her modulated voice crackled as she shouted for the girl, and she was yards away, bare feet away, when Ren turned to her and held out his hand.

Mind tricks were not the same as the full, uninhibited feeling of the Force pressing against you. 

Phasma felt as if every molecule in the universe was pressing upon her, was holding her in place. Her blaster was aimed at Ren, but her finger could not pull the trigger. She could see Ren, the green wash of her visor making his face seem even more sickly. When had he started to go without it when facing Rey? Why would he? What could he hope to gain with such a tactic, leaving his face vulnerable, showing off the thick ugly scar across his face only to Rey?

“Captain Phasma.” Kylo Ren stared at her for a moment and Rey shifted ever so slightly, her saber still drawn, still humming, knowing that a wrong move and Ren would choke the life out of Phasma, snap her neck without effort. “You’ve joined a lost cause, Captain.”

“I have joined nothing,” Phasma gritted through her teeth, her modulator mincing the words oddly, but they made it out. 

“No... You’re not one for loyalty.” Ren stepped forward and Rey changed her stance, ready to charge the larger man if need be. He gave a low laugh. “Love. Such a foreign concept to you, you don’t even recognize it.”

Phasma remembered, for a moment, that Kylo Ren had once had a family, a mother and father who loved him, a father who loved him even as he killed him, a mother who loves him still. He had a point of reference. Phasma had a mother and father who could not love her, not when she was another mouth to feed, and a greedy one at that. A daughter, not a son, a disappointment. 

What could Phasma possibly know of love? No one had ever shown her how.

No one but Rey, who had extended her hand in peace, who had offered her protection, who had offered her an escape, a way out, who let her remain on the Falcon, who travelled the galaxy with her by her side, who let Phasma see her back and never once expected a blaster bolt or a knife from Phasma.

“Love has made you weak, Captain Phasma.” Kylo Ren taunted, glaring at her. “It is a weakness, a flaw.” His grip on her tightened and the metal collar about Phasma’s neck buckled, pressing to her skin, suffocating her. “And now it will be the reason you die.”

The next thing Phasma knew was a scream and a white, blinding light behind her eyelids. She was certain that this was death, but when the screaming continued she couldn’t help but hope, trying to gasp for breath, her gloved hands clawing at the crumpled metal about her throat. The mechanism for it had broken, the hydraulic lock had failed, and her finger scrambled desperately as she took small, gasping breaths.

She could hear the sounds of conflict as she faded, the sounds of the Falcon’s engines, a now familiar noise that Phasma once could not have imagined knowing, memorising.

When she woke it was to the rush of oxygen into her lungs, the strong embrace of Chewbacca’s arms carrying her through the Falcon’s hallways, the sound of Rey’s voice shouting at the Wookie to get into the cockpit. 

She didn’t pull her helmet off entirely, pulling it up just enough to breathe freely, her mouth and nose escaping the regulated confines of the thick leather and metal contraption. Laying on her bunk she panted and wheezed as the sounds of muffled blaster fire hitting the Falcon’s shields reverberated through the ship.

It was hours before Rey came to their shared quarters, the young Jedi looking at her with wide, terrified eyes.

“Phasma.” The girl whispered, kneeling beside the bed, reaching up even as Phasma yanked the mask down. “Phas, look at me, let me see your neck.” Rey whispered, gently guiding Phasma’s head towards her, peeling up the thick leather of the helmet up to reveal the mottled bruises of her throat. 

“I’m fine.” The woman grumbled, staring at Rey, the green wash making the girl look even more sick than doubtless she felt from the conflict, from the close call. “Ren-”

“He lives.” Rey whispered. “I promised Leia I...” She swallowed and Phasma laid back, turning her head away. 

“I see.”

“Phasma...” Rey whispered, her voice catching in a way the woman could not place. “You’re not weak.”

And there it was. Phasma hated that Rey had the ability to hit upon the things that bothered her, that upset her. “Ren is right.”

“No.” Rey said firmly. 

Before Phasma could protest her mask was being ripped off and thrown aside, and her eyes were meeting Rey’s. She loomed upwards, baring her teeth at the girl. “Rey-”

“Why did you run to me? On the cliffside? Why did you go to me?”

“You were fighting Ren, you were losing.” Phasma said simply, staring down at the girl.

“Why did you not run to Chewie? Get help?”

“Rey, you were losing!” Phasma grabbed the girl’s arm. “You were going to die at Kylo Ren’s hands and I couldn’t just stand there and watch that happen!”

“Why?” Rey stared at her harder. “You sold your parents out to the Scyre. You killed Keldo. Brendol Hux. Countless of your own comrades in the First Order as well as Resistance troops.”

“I didn’t love them!” Phasma bit out, giving Rey a shake. “What are they to me? They did not love me, they did not care, they never looked at me as anything more than... Than a tool, a monster, a means to an end.” Phasma’s breath left her as if she’d been punched as she stared down at the girl, her hand reaching up to cup a pale cheek.

What had she done when she was Rey’s age? Barely two decades? She had been Scyre by then, a proud warrior, blooded in conflict. She had not been so soft as this girl. Rey who had sat with her late at night, telling her words that her own language did not have the vernacular for, words that she would not have learned in the First Order because they had no use. Rey who kissed her like Phasma’s lips held the cleanest, purest water the girl had ever tasted.

“I love you too, Phasma.” Rey whispered, staring up at her. “I could not let him kill you.”

Phasma stared at Rey, as if she could search out a lie the same way that Rey could. She was not Force sensitive, she could not touch or manipulate it as Rey could, but she was smart, logical. Rey would not tell a lie to her, could not. If she could not forgive Phasma her past crimes then she could not have lied to her, could not have told her that she loved her. 

“Even though I have killed so many?” Phasma whispered, her voice shaking. “Even though I am only a weapon?” There was a softness, a vulnerability inside her chest that she had not known had existed, something that craved a gentle touch, a kind word, Rey’s fingers on her face, cradling her cheek like something precious.

“You aren’t a weapon.” Rey pressed her palm to Phasma’s jaw, curving her fingers up to her cheek, tracing a scar Phasma had gotten in one of their conflicts with the First Order.   
“You are a human being.”

“I don’t feel like it sometimes.” Phasma whispered, staring at her. “I forget that I am more than what I have survived.”

“I will always remind you.” Rey whispered, rising to press flush against Phasma, pushing her back onto the bed. “Always.”

Phasma kissed Rey before the girl could continue, before she could examine her feelings too closely. 

Kissing Rey always made Phasma feel as if her stomach had dropped out from within her, her skin flushing and hot, desire inching its way up her skin, over her face and down her neck and chest until she was pink and shaking with it.

“Phas.” Rey whispered, her hands stroking over Phasma’s hair, combing the blonde fringe of it back. “Please...”

And Phasma could not disobey any more than she could stop breathing and still live. 

Her lips brushed over Rey’s neck, down to her shoulder, pushing aside the grey woolen shirt that the girl wore to combat the chill of the Falcon. Phasma’s palms cupped the girl’s breasts through her bindings, her thumbs rubbing over peaked nipples through the fabric. Without her helmet could truly hear Rey’s breathless noises, the way she sighed and her breath hitched with each touch of Phasma’s fingers, her mouth. Long fingers slowly, carefully rubbed over Rey’s nipples before she tugged at the thick lycra of her bindings, pulling the fabric down to her waist in order to capture a soft, pink nipple in her mouth.

Rey whimpered, her fingers tangling tighter in Phasma’s hair, one hand pushing at the fabric of her jacket and shirt, greedily trying to expose her skin. Skin that Phasma still struggled to show, still sometimes refused to let Rey touch unhindered. Every inch was a precious secret between the two of them, something that only Rey would ever see, would ever touch, would ever claim in any part. Now, in this moment, with this grand revelation, with the fear still pulsing within her, Phasma could not find it in herself to listen to the decades long instinct to remain hidden, to remain covered. Her mask and helmet had long been cast aside, what was the skin of her breasts or thighs to that? 

Phasma pulled her hands back from Rey’s waist only long enough so that she could unfasten and shrug out of her shirt and jacket, letting the fabrics fall to the bunk behind her, feeling Rey kicking them aside. The entire time her lips and teeth refused to move from Rey’s breast, sucking and biting softly at sensitive nipples until Rey’s voice became higher, more frantic with need. 

“Phas...” Rey whispered, her nails dragging over the woman’s back, leaving thin red lines in the scarred flesh. Phasma moved down, feeling Rey’s hands grip her shoulders, then her hair the further down she moved. The tight pull of strong, slim digits in her hair made Phasma groan softly, her mouth pressed to the seam of Rey’s pants on her thigh biting through the thick fabric. 

It was a joint effort to remove Rey’s pants and the woman stared down at Rey’s bared form when they were cast aside, her own hands working at her belt and the thick leather work pants she wore. Rey was all lean muscle, thin and small from years of malnourishment, but strong, wiry. Phasma liked the small swells of her tits, and regular meals had given her an equal amount of padding on her hips and thighs, but none of it took away from the fact that once, not so long ago, Rey had fought and scavenged for what she could.

“I love you.” Rey whispered, staring up at Phasma with her brown eyes, so sharp they seemed to dig into Phasma’s own gaze, hold her captive in them. This was different than the Force, she was sure, a skill that only Rey had, and only on Phasma. 

“I love you too, Rey.” Phasma whispered, staring down at the girl and tossing her pants and belt aside. Phasma laid herself on the bed, Rey’s legs framing her broad shoulders,   
Rey’s fingers in her hair again, and set to work.

This was something both familiar and not. 

Phasma had not felt a need for sex before Holocyne. Among the Scyre she had been a woman warrior, an oddity to be exploited if half a chance could be found. Among the First Order she had been a legend, a paragon and therefore above such things as sexual desire. On Holocyne she had simply been another person among the flotsam and jetsam that made its way to the smuggler’s city. She had never let anyone fuck her, had never exposed more than her hands, none of those girls had ever known her face, but she had taken her gloves off, had stared down at her fair share of beautiful girls and fingered them open, tasting the residue of their desire and orgasm once they had left the alleyway where Phasma’s rendezvous took place.

Rey tasted both similar and different to them. She was bitter and sharp on Phasma’s tongue, but there was a sweetness to her as well. The girl had blushed once when Phasma had explained that the prostitutes in Holocyne had had a sweet fruit that they would eat to make themselves taste sweeter. Phasma did not think that Rey ate such fruits, and if she did then she did not think that she needed them, not when she already tasted so warm and dripping wet and slick.

“Phas...” Rey breathed out, like it was the only word she knew anymore, her thighs pressing to Phasma’s head, the woman looking briefly up at her, her arms moving to cradle   
Rey’s thighs, holding her waist tightly so that she could press in and savour her even more.

Her tongue made lazy circle, abstract lines and shapes against delicate flesh and even as Rey moaned and her grip on Phasma’s hair spasmed pulling tighter until Phasma grunted and pulled back. Two fingers inside the girl’s cunt, a thumb on her clit, and Phasma had Rey writhing beneath her her legs trembling and shaking.

“Phas, please, please, Phas-”

The woman growled low in her throat, straddling one of the girl’s legs, pushing the other as far back to Rey’s shoulder as she could. She rocked her hips against the pressure, groaning low in her throat when Rey moaned, high and needy, and rocked her leg up against Phasma’s hot cunt. 

“Give it to me, Rey.” Phasma murmured, staring down at her lover. “I want you to give it to me.”

Rey’s body shook, her eyelids trembling as she arched and squirmed against Phasma’s fingers, the long digits curling into her more deeply, finding the rough patch of nerves inside the girl that made her convulse and pant and sob in pleasure, spiralling like the fractured heart of a nebula, dissolving into the air. Phasma shuddered and came at the sounds of Rey’s fluttering pants, the way the girl stared at her, pressing her knee against the place where Phasma was dripping and burning hot. 

When she came back to herself, the particles of her own mind condensing back into her body, separating from where she could swear she felt them touching Rey’s, Phasma could see the way Rey stared up at her, panting and exhausted, her eyelids drooping even as Phasma leaned down to kiss her. 

“Phas... I love you, Phas.” Rey whispered, her fingers stroking over the woman’s neck, up the back of her skull, over the shaven undercut before tangling in her hair, holding Phasma close. 

Phasma stared down at Rey, and for a moment she thought of Kylo Ren’s words. 

“He’s wrong.” Phasma whispered, staring down at Rey. “About love.”

Rey’s eyes opened and her brows furrowed as she stared at Phasma, blinking slowly at her. “Kylo Ren?”

“He said that love is a weakness. That it made me weak.” Phasma’s fingers stroked over Rey’s face, cupping her jaw gently. “I am stronger than I ever have been because I love you.”


	3. These Are My Hands. My Knees.

“We need fuel.” Rey rubbed at her eyes, staring at the various readings that the Falcon was giving her. “We need new couplinks, the guns are out, everything is fucking wrecked.”

It was not their first encounter with Kylo Ren, it was also not their last, and most likely they would be running from him until he or both of them were dead. 

“We need credits.” Phasma said as she stared at Rey. “We need a bounty.” 

“No.” Rey’s eyes snapped to hers and Phasma folded her arms, her Ubese helmet obstructing her expression, but her body language is enough and Rey can feel a fight coming on. They’ve had a rough few months, being pursued relentlessly by a jealousy-fuelled Kylo Ren and tempers had run high. Chewbacca sat between them, in the co-pilot’s chair, looking worriedly between the two of them. 

“No? So you want to be stranded on some backwater planet with no fuel and no ship?” Phasma stepped closer and she could see Chewbacca tensing as he watched her step forward. “Is that what you want, Rey? Is it? Because if we are stranded with no fuel and no ship then we will be dead.”

“I don’t want you to have to kill again!” Rey snapped, standing and staring up at the other woman, trying to peer through the mask. “You are not a weapon. You aren’t.”

“I was born a weapon.” Phasma stared down at the girl before her, jaw set behind the safety of her mask. “It is all I have ever known.”

“You don’t have to know that anymore!” 

“Obviously I do!” 

“If you go out there for a bounty, I swear to the Force and everything it touches that I will not let you come back here. Do not throw away my help!”

Phasma could feel anger burning in her veins, hotter than any drug that the First Order had hopped her and her Storm Troopers up on. 

“Fine.”

She turned and left, hearing Chewbacca howling unhappily, and Rey going dangerously quiet as she watched Phasma leave the cockpit, going into the quarters she and Rey had taken to sharing. Their combined scent could be smelled without the filter of her helmet, so Phasma left it on, gathering up her blasters, the electrified staff that she had gotten on one trip to Corellia. 

“Where will you go, Phasma?”

The woman froze at the sound of Rey’s voice behind her, turning and staring at the younger girl. “Tatooine.” She said simply, buckling on her holster at her thigh for the smaller hand held blaster. “There’s always some Hutt out to pay out for a corpse.”

Rey stared at her, her jaw set stubbornly. She wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t demand that Phasma stay.

Her long fingers reached out, cupping Rey’s cheek, stroking over the smooth skin with her glove, feeling the thick hide of the gloves catching slightly on Rey’s skin. “I am doing this for you.” She whispered, leaning in to press the faceplate of her mask against Rey’s forehead, an imitation of a brief, intimate rest. “I will come back to you.”

\--

The Hutts always acted like they had impossible tasks given to the Bounty Hunters they hired. Always such a grand, nigh impossible task, one that they were always so reluctant to pay for. 

“You have already been paid.” The translator, a scantily clad twi’lek, said with a sneer as Phasma held her live captive before the Hutt.

“Half up front. I am here to collect the other half of my payment.”

The Hutt grumbled in Huttese, glaring at her with the wide, reptilian eyes of the species, the stubby arms grabbing at the chain of the twi’lek translating for it.

“Fifteen thousand credits is more than fair.” The translator managed and Phasma glared at the Hutt before slamming her staff onto the ground.

“Pay me my full payment or I will take my payment in pounds of flesh.” She said, the distortion of her voice modulator cracking with the anger in her tone. 

The Hutt barked an order to it’s guards and Phasma turned before they could even reach for their primitive weapons. When she started firing didn’t matter. How many bodies fell didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was being attacked, that she was going to die if she did not react. So she reacted. Five guards, nearly a dozen screaming guests of the Hutt, scrambling away and over one another as Phasma open fired on anyone who came within her proximity. Those who were not killed by her weapons, or by the carelessness of the guards, were trampled beneath those trying to escape.   
When the guards were dead and the room mostly cleared, Phasma turned to the Hutt, staring down at the great slug-like body, the twi’lek translator crouched beside the bulk of the Hutt. Phasma slammed the end of her staff into the chain connecting the two, the translator jumping as one of the thick links snapped.

“Get out.” She ordered the translator, staring still at the Hutt. “We will conclude our business without you.” The girl didn’t even hesitate as she left the room, leaping over bodies, the chain still long enough to clink against the floor as she ran. The Hutt was wheezing and shouting at her in Huttese, but Phasma only loomed over him, her armored bulk eclipsing the last of the lights that had survived the shootout. The fight had lasted minutes, and Phasma had come out the victor. “Give me the rest of my pay.” She ordered, staring at the Hutt.

It gestured to a locked case and Phasma went over to it, hitting the lock with her staff to make it snap open, revealing the wealth of treasures within it. Staring down at it, Phasma took the remainder of her pay, filling her pack with the contents of the box and carefully strapping it shut, securing it tightly against her thigh. 

She heard the click of a blaster and turned sharply, only to be struck by the small weapon held in the grip of the Hutt. Another blow hit her and this time it made it through her armor, burning and searing and making Phasma snarl in pain before she collapsed on the floor, the stunning function on the blaster doing it’s work before she had any chance of escape.

When Phasma awoke she was naked.

Even with Rey, Phasma had never been completely bared, and that immediately made her roll into a crouch, her limbs protesting the movement before she was stopped altogether.

Chains. She was in chains.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could finally hear the sounds of activity above her, looking up she could see into the Hutt’s audience chamber, could see the light filtering down into the pit she had been placed in. Casting her gaze about, Phasma could see very little of her surroundings, other than the fact that across from her was a series of bars blocking off what she assumed was the exit, or another chamber of the prison. 

Someone squealed up above her and Phasma’s eyes flew up, her scarred mouth twisting into a snarl as she saw the yellow gaze of the Hutt, the self-satisfied creature laughing and gathering it’s new audience about the chamber. Phasma froze as she took in the familiar set of stormtrooper goggles, the rest of the head bundled in fabric, the lean, small body of Rey hovering over the edge of the chamber, always on the outskirts, peeking in curiously, darting around to get a better sight of what was within the prison below. 

Phasma opened her mouth to say something, to call out, only for the gate across from her to begin to open, a loud shrieking roar echoing through the cave. Phasma gathered up what she could of the chains holding her in place and scrambled backwards at the sight of a Nexu bounding out of it’s cell, the obviously imported creature covered in scars and patches of missing fur. It had been the victor of several hard won fights and Phasma was at a disadvantage. 

Wrapping her fists in the thick chains she ignored the metal biting into her flesh, instead clutching at the heavy links and waiting for the Nexu to get closer. When it’s open maw was within reach, Phasma slammed her fist into the jaw of the beast, metal cracking upon bone and sending the Nexu sprawling on it’s side for a brief moment, enough for Phasma to brace her legs apart, her shoulders setting, her entire body ready for the fight that was to come.

She could hear violence above, shouting, could hear Rey’s own roar of defiance and rage, echoing the Nexu that lunged at Phasma again and again, slashing and swiping at her with it’s long tail. Phasma snarled as her thigh caught the brunt of one such attack, the flesh splitting open and making her collapse into a crouch, shuffling backwards, staring up at the wide-grinning maw of the feline creature above her.

A shower of sparks made both her and the creature look up and Phasma rolled away just as an enormous chunk of the grating from the ceiling came crashing down onto the Nexu, pinning her own leg beneath it as well and making Phasma scream in pain at the crunch of bone that vibrated up her entire body.

She could see Rey, coming down, lightsaber in hand, no doubt using the Force to be able to land so easily upon the ground of the cave.

Phasma’s vision faded to darkness as Rey pulled her goggles and scarves off, staring with wide, terrified eyes down at Phasma, her mouth forming words that the other woman could not hear as the world went black.

When Phasma woke again it was upon the Millenium Falcon, dressed in her underthings, a small mercy in comparison to waking naked in the Hutt’s prison. She rolled over on the bed she shared with Rey, grasping for her mask from the ground beside the bed, only to overbalance, nearly tumbling off the bed. 

“Phasma!” Rey’s sharp voice sounded far away, her head turning slowly to look at Rey as the girl grabbed hold of her, wiry strength helping Phasma roll back onto her back again. “You stubborn - stubborn-” The arms turned from supportive to embracing, Rey’s head tucked to her neck as Phasma’s own strong arms coiled slowly around Rey’s shoulders. 

“You found me.”

“I followed the money. You’re the one who taught me that.” 

“My leg hurts.” Phasma murmured, her eyes trying to focus on Rey.

“You’re on a lot of hypos, which leg hurts?”

“My left.” Phasma looked down, only to freeze at the sight of nothing below her thigh. “Oh god.” 

“I had to cut it off.” Rey whispered, cupping Phasma’s jaw and turning her gaze away, her eyes wide as she stared up at the smaller girl. “I had to cut it off to save you.”

Phasma’s eyes rolled back and she stared at the ceiling, trying to process the words, the sight of her missing leg, the feeling of pain of a leg that was no longer there, everything twisting up inside her mind and making her entire body shake as she turns to grab hold of her mask. The Ubese mask skittered across the edge of the bed, tumbling to the floor and Phasma dove for it, wheezing and panting, panicking as she watched it fall to the floor. 

Rey’s hand reached out and the mask floated up into her grip, turning without effort, and she held it over Phasma’s face, pressing it over her face, letting the woman breathe deeply behind the comfort of the mask, focusing, grounding herself, trying to grasp at every last bit of sanity she could.

“My leg.”

“We’ll fix it. We’ll use some of the credits, we’ll pay for a replacement. We’re going to make it to Corellia and we’ll get you a replacement.”  
Phasma nodded, breathing deeply through the panic, through the horror. She had lost parts of her before, bits of her soul, her humanity, the parts that made her live and breathe like everyone else. This was no different. It had to be no different.

After all. She could replace the limb.

\--

Corellia was a sea of parts and bits that could be traded for, medical care included in that. 

The Grindalid looking at Phasma’s stump leg sneered, the long edges of her mouth snarling out, “Five hundred credits.” 

“Three, it’s a piece of junk.” Rey snapped, giving the worm-like creature a narrow-eyed glare. “I could make one better out of scraps.”

“Four-fifty.” The Gindalid leaned in, looming over Rey in an attempt at intimidation. “And a little something extra for your time.”

“Four hundred.” Phasma glared at the creature, rising up from the chair that Chewbacca had placed her in, leaning against the Wookie for support. Even in her incapacitated state, she stood closer in height to Chewbacca than to Rey’s smaller frame. She cut an intimidating figure, even as a wounded human. “And that something extra for wasting our time.”

“Fine, fine, four hundred. Get onto the table.”

Phasma remembered pain, it was an old friend, and the pain of the nodes being attached to her nerves, of the metal being fused to flesh and bone being drilled into, the leg mounted onto her as surely as another piece of machinery mounted onto the Millennium Falcon. The Grindalid worked with the haphazard vigour that was common to the Corellian people, doubtless running risks that no reasonable being would even attempt. 

By the time Phasma was done the pain had made her vision blur and her voice had gone hoarse from her shouts, the only outlet her bound body had for the shocks of pain racing circuits through her body faster than Solo’s Kessel Run.

“There! You’re fixed now!” The Grindalid slammed it’s tools down, the stubby legs rippling along it’s thin body as the creature cackles. “Good as new!”

The leg of an Imperial Security Droid was now mounted to Phasma’s frame, the woman looking down to see her thigh carved away from her hip, a long line of surgical thread wrapping the flesh back around her femur and the strut it had been welded to. Nodes tingled with wayward sensation and Phasma groaned as she rolled onto her front, removing the mask of oxygen over her mouth and replacing it with her Ubese mask.

Standing up she was shocked at how well the leg worked. 

“Good as new!” The Grindalid cackled again and Phasma looked at Rey, fighting through the shocks of pain, careful of her new stitches. Her stride was not shortened in any way, and any limp she might have carried would be gone when she finally got used to the leg. “And for your time.” A box was slid into Chewbacca’s grip as Rey exchanged it for the credits, Phasma standing close to the wookie in order to keep herself from any sudden falls.

Chewbacca opened the case, peeking inside, and Phasma turned her own gaze to the contents, snorting at Chewbacca’s offended howl, closing the box and taking it into her own grip. “How generous.” She said, her mask distorting the words, but even so Rey raised a brow at Phasma’s tone.

They made it back to the ship, Phasma walking only halfway before Chewbacca managed to hoist her into the chair, roaring directly into her face in order to make her stop. She was grateful for that, as otherwise she would have had to have walked the rest of the way in stubborn pain.

“What did they give you?” Rey asked when they were back in the private chamber they shared, Phasma seated on the bed. 

“A surprise for a later date.” Phasma murmured, placing the case beneath the bed. “For now, come here and check their work, I don’t trust a Grindalid as far as I can throw them.”


End file.
